An Ocean of Knowledge

The pond in the back of the Hempstock's house in The Ocean at the End of the Lane, which is also the ocean that carries Lettie's body away, merits more unpacking.

The metaphor of the ocean in this book is so rich it feels Biblical. It is both a placid pond and a ferocious ocean. It's also a bucket of water that transports the seven-year-old narrator to another dimension.

I saw the world I had walked since my birth and I understood how fragile it was, that the reality I knew was a thin layer of icing on a great dark birthday cake writhing with grubs and nightmares and hunger. I saw the world from above and below. I saw that there were patterns and gates and paths beyond the real. I saw all these things and understood them and they filled me, just as the waters of the ocean filled me.  

Everything whispered inside me. Everything spoke to everything, and I knew it all. 

The ocean is the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil in Genesis. Makes perfect sense that the writers of the Bible would want us to avoid it, too. Seems to me that the keepers of the keys of knowledge too seldom wish to share, as though disseminating knowledge decreases its value.

Or, what if the tree/ocean of knowledge was cast as "original sin" because spending too much time thinking about it -- how souls are made, where we go when we die -- prevents us from being present here on earth, which is the whole point?

After his ocean experience, the narrator has a conversation with Lettie that illustrates this beautifully.

"Do you still know everything, all the time?"  

She shook her head. She didn't smile. She said, "Be boring, knowing everything. You have to give all that stuff up if you're going to muck about here." 

"So you used to know everything?" 

She wrinkled her nose. "Everybody did. I told you. It's nothing special, knowing how things work. And you really do have to give it all up if you want to play."  

"To play what?" 

"This," she said. She waved at the house and the sky and the impossible full moon and the skeins and shawls and clusters of bright stars.

It's nice to believe that when she died, Molly entered this ocean, that she's been granted understanding and wisdom and comfort of a kind I hope not to see for several decades. It's an image of afterlife I can get behind, and provides me comfort comparable to what my mother probably feels when she visualizes heaven.

Long ago, literature became my Bible. I return to the books that have shaped me -- Virginia Woolf's The Waves, Arundhati Roy's The God of Small Things, Stephen Dunn's poetry, and many more -- in the way Christians return to the Bible.

Literature does the Bible one better, I think. It's not a closed system; writers are constantly adding new ideas and metaphors to the conversation, interpreting the world as we find it for a new generation. Thus a book written in 2013, when I was cooking dinners and partying with Molly, offers me comfort when she's gone, just a few years later.

Shine on, bright star. Swim in knowledge.

The Little Feminist Seamstress

I found Dai Sijie's Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress on a post-election booklist beside Orwell's 1984. It was a part of my last big Amazon purchase before I committed to the boycott (see Trump products and allies to boycott at #grabyourwallet).

The fact that I ordered it at all -- let alone picked it up shortly after it came in the mail -- makes me a little sheepish. At one point in my life, half of my male friends were dating Asian women. I'd scoffed at their sudden, put-on interest in everything Asian.

Now here I am dating a Korean woman and genuinely drawn to Asian-themed news stories, books and arts. Drawn, I should add, in a mostly white fashion: I'm curious about all of Asia, regardless of region or ethnic group. The exception is news stories about modern-day Korea.

Balzac and the Little Chinese Seamstress is set in Communist China, when two city boys from middle-class families are sent to the countryside to be "re-educated." The center of the book is a young seamstress, raised by her father, just discovering her womanhood and power, alongside the two boys and a handful of Western classics in Chinese translation.

Spoiler alert.

I loved everything about this book: the vivid descriptions of the Chinese countryside, the dailiness of rights infringement in a totalitarian society and the way in which people resist oppression, in big and small ways.

We see the girl's strength when she handles an unplanned pregnancy without consulting her boyfriend. It's a powerful picture: this slip of a girl, all of eighteen, from the middle of nowhere with no education, pulling herself together to get an illegal abortion and high-tail it out of town, leaving the boys in the ancient dust.

So I resisted the last line: "She said she had learned one thing from Balzac: that a woman's beauty is a treasure beyond price."

That's not the lesson! It's anti-feminist! It's objectifying!

Then I took a breath. The last lines come to us through her rejected love, and may be unfair or inaccurate.

Another breath. Beauty and power are not mutually exclusive, and the journey to confidence often contains both, especially for young women.

Why We Write Novels, Inspired by Trump Supporters

I grew up in rural America among those who elected Trump. In mocking interviews, his supporters say, "I don't care about the facts. I know it’s true."

Or, “you have your facts and I have mine.”

Working in education, I see an opportunity for curricula about facts vs. opinions. But these statements go deeper than poor critical thinking, to the root of subjectivity. 

Imagine person A and person B.

Person A decides by age 25 that evangelical Christianity is the answer to life's pain and a path toward meaning. She goes deep into religion, and everything she encounters in life seems to affirm her religion. If you think that religion is not circumspect enough to inhabit the modern world, look again. 

Person B has been exposed to religion for her whole life, and never once inspired. By age 25, she is reading every book she can get her hands on and believes literature is the path to truth. The study of philosophy, history and psychology make sense of the world, and everything she encounters in life seems to affirm the primacy of empirical understanding.

My mother is person A. I am person B. This is why one writes novels.